In the command center of the Mother of Tears, Lancelot had not yet thought of how to negotiate with the Lamenters earlier, so after completing the cleanup work on the Cobra destroyer, Lancelot proposed taking a short rest first.
They would first leave this dangerous area, undergo some resupply and refitting, and then have a conversation.
Subsequently, Lancelot was brought into a resting room.
Ten hours passed, and Chapter Master Malakim even feared that this mysterious Dark Angel would suddenly leave without saying goodbye.
After all, in rumors, the Dark Angels always suddenly appeared on a certain ship to execute a mission, and then suddenly disappeared.
Furthermore, the Chapter’s Librarius had also told him that this Dark Angel was absolutely not simple.
He seemed to possess some kind of relic that directly stabilized realspace, and in terms of psychic presence, he could see almost no trace of this Dark Angel at all.
The other party carrying a relic…
this point was understandable for the ancient Dark Angels.
Perhaps the other party could have resolved the problems on the ship all by himself back then, and it was just a coincidence that he was able to fight shoulder-to-shoulder with him.
Rare goodwill…
a rare battle-brother.
A rare friendship.
Was it going to quietly disappear just like this?
Malakim also worried about this situation.
The Lamenters had been lost in the Warp for too long.
Now that they had finally managed to escape the Warp, and had finally managed to fight alongside a battle-brother who was friendly to them…
If this Dark Angel suddenly left without saying goodbye…
even if the Lamenters wouldn’t say much, since everyone was serving the Imperium, Space Marines were not machines.
If that happened, they would still feel a sense of loss.
And under such emotions, Malakim finally received news from Lancelot.
“Chapter Master, that battle-brother of the Dark Angels, Lancelot, has invited you to head to our armory for a meeting,” a Lamenter said.
“He has already gone ahead.” “To the armory for a meeting?” A trace of doubt flashed across Malakim’s face.
Previously, it had been fine; the Cursed Founding still left them with a decent amount of assets, and the consumption from some past small-scale battles was still considered acceptable.
But after experiencing the Defense of Corillia, the Lamenters Chapter suffered massive losses, and the Chapter itself was practically penniless.
The most valuable things should be the gene-seed of those Chapter brothers, while the equipment in the armory…
almost all of it was heavily damaged, and there weren’t even many bolter rounds left.
Going to the armory would only show a scene of shabby poverty.
Measuring whether a Chapter is wealthy depends on many factors: homeworld, governed sector, Chapter status…
but the Lamenters of the Cursed Founding had absolutely none of these.
The only thing to be thankful for was that although the Chapter’s Adeptus Mechanicus members had also suffered many casualties, they could at least still support operations…
However, this could also be considered poor management on his part as Chapter Master…
It truly is a disgrace.
Did this Dark Angel visit the armory…
to judge the value of the Lamenters?
On the way, every step the armor took on the cold floor emitted a heart-palpitating echo.
Walking through the Fortress-Monastery, the suit of Tartaros pattern Terminator armor he wore was actually considered the Chapter’s last bit of dignity.
Within the Fortress-Monastery, the equipment worn by most Lamenters was almost completely battered and torn.
Either the shoulder pauldrons had been blasted with a hideous gap, the chest plates were dented, or they were covered in scratches, and the once-proud Chapter insignias had been worn down until they were blurry.
Too little manpower.
Too few supplies.
Because of the Cursed Founding, even the accompanying Tech-Priests of the Mechanicus were extremely few.
Resupply was difficult, repairs were even more difficult, and the armory had absolutely no reserves.
Carrying such complicated feelings, Malakim avoided the others and walked toward the armory alone.
The heavy iron doors closed.
The lights of the armory all turned on, yet Malakim’s expression abruptly became blank in an instant.
Because the sight appearing before his eyes shocked him.
Those pupils, dimmed by exhaustion, suddenly shrank, and an unbelievable shock instantly swept through his entire body.
The storehouse, which should have been completely empty, was now actually filled by a silver tide of steel.
Hover motorcycle vehicles.
They were not the kind of crudely made battlefield transport tools, but machines of war as exquisite as works of art.
The streamlined hulls were forged from mithril and star-steel, and deep blue streams of energy light flowed across the pitch-black bodies, like living behemoths.
The front ends bore heavy armor, continuously circulating with blinding light.
And behind the array of hover vehicles stood rows upon rows of power armor.
They were not being worn by warriors; they were silent steel giants, broad-shouldered and majestic.
They exuded a chilling majesty, the pitch-black alloy armor surfaces gleaming with a cold matte finish.
From this end of the storehouse, extending all the way to the other end, the densely packed power armor stretched out as far as the eye could see!
They stood quietly, like tombstones of steel, or like guards awaiting rebirth.
Every single suit was so perfect, brimming with energy, exuding a heart-palpitating sense of oppression!
Even more heart-trembling were the mountains of firearms and artillery.
As far as the eye could see, various types of weapons were dazzling to the eyes, categorized and stacked neatly.
Ammunition crates were piled like mountains, and magazines were arranged in orderly rows.
Every weapon had undergone the most precise forging, without a single trace of rust or wear, as if just taken out of a forge furnace, still radiating intense heat.
In the corner, some Red Cross medical supplies were quietly arranged.
But even so, the air was still permeated with a thick scent of metal and energy, chillingly cold yet making one’s heart surge.
The faint glow of the hover vehicles, the stern cold light of the power armor, and the sharp gleam of the firearms interwove, reflecting in the Chapter Master’s gradually igniting eyes.
That sense of loss and despair that had penetrated deep into the marrow was thoroughly crushed at this moment, replaced by blank bewilderment.
Who…
who put this in my ship!
Chapter Master Malakim even thought his eyes were playing tricks on him, and couldn’t help but step forward to stroke the armor of those hover motorcycles.
When that real tactile sensation was transmitted through his nerves, Malakim only felt as if something was churning within his heart.
These…
these creations are so perfect, so exquisite, as if they had just finished assembly from a forge manufactorum, yet they completely lacked those convoluted patterns of the Adeptus Mechanicus, instead bearing a sleek technological texture.
Even though the Lamenters were not a Chapter that excelled at using vehicles for sudden assaults, they had seen the posture of the battle-brothers of the White Scars Chapter supporting them.
At that time, the White Scars battle-brothers roared past riding motorcycles, continuously weaving through the battlefield via their high mobility.
But even for the White Scars, who specialized in using this tactic, Malakim felt their vehicles were absolutely not as perfect as these hover motorcycles before his eyes!
The technology of the Imperium of Man has now regressed, so it is normal for this situation to occur.
Because, the standard Astartes weapon forge template Lancelot currently possessed recorded this vehicle under the name of the Bullock pattern jetbike!
During the Great Crusade era, it was merely standard-issue equipment, but now in the 40K era, it had become a rare and precious creation!
It had even become a holy relic of the White Scars Chapter, only allowed to be used by warriors of outstanding merit!
Lancelot sighed with such emotion inwardly, but still stepped out from the shadows and came before Chapter Master Malakim.
Subsequently, he spoke straightforwardly: “Chapter Master Malakim, the Lamenters have just escaped from the Warp and happen to need resupply.
I just so happen to have some inventory, so please accept this meager gift.” CREATORS’ THOUGHTS Thaniel_a_goodch Please remember to vote!
Thaniel_a_goodchild.